Blood oozed from the wounded off to the side of the gravel road. Jack sat behind the oversized steering wheel. Dazed, he rubbed the knot forming on his forehead and stared at the cracked windshield.
Whaaa, what the?
Jack wanted out of the ‘74 pickup truck. Spitefully, the 3 decades-old Oak Tree would not accommodate--the driver’s side door was kissing bark. Heavy breathing from outside the blue truck snapped Jack to now.
The shotgun and cell phone both lay on the passenger side floor--a slight reach away. Jack moved the unfastened seatbelt to the floor with the intent to slide to another side of the truck. The needle pricking pain made him quit. He dropped his head back against the seat and shut his eyelids. It was still as dark as if they had remained open.
Think, think... What happened?
The thud from the back of the truck caused Jack’s eyelids to pop open. Yes, now he recalled--understood what was happening--why his shotgun and cell phone lay on the opposite side of him and out of reach.
Hunting, in the eve on the edge of his mountain farm about a mile from the ranch he shared with his woman is what happened. They both desired something gamey for supper 2 nights before this eve.
Jack promised his woman to fetch some fresh game as he’d done so many times before. Though tonight would not be for deer, raccoon, rabbit, or turkey. It was to snag something more enticing, never as before and too large for him to carry, he had hoped.
He made another go for the shotgun. Retrieving it would make him feel more secure for the night was heavily upon him with no moonlight or stars to guide him.
Noise from the back of the truck was closer. The growling was new though...something he never heard before. But this time was not like the last times. He was trapped. Thumping started against the back window, the only thing keeping Jack and the hunted separated. The glass finally caved in from the constant pounding.
Frightened, Jack turned his head to face and behold the eyes of the game he and his woman had planned to devour 2 eves from never now. The huge paw swung at his head. Jack felt the 5-inch claws slice open the skin on his face and screamed louder than a wolf’s howl on a winter eve outlined by a full moon.
Everything turned deep dark.
The rooster’s cocka doodle doing too much this early made Jack’s listless body move to life--feeling the warmth of flesh draped over his leg. He opened his eyes and sprung up, taking in his surroundings, paying particular attention to his face. Hesitantly, he brushed the side of his cheek with an unsteady hand.
What, is it sweetheart? a soft, woman’s voice inquired.
Jack drew in a big breath then exhaled. The menu has changed my love. Let’s just stick with some veggies and starch for a while.
The Wounded written by creator >> Monique Gilmore Scott is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.